


we’re all travelling through time together

by buries



Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Future, F/M, Future Fic, Secret Santa, Westallen Secret Santa
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-25
Updated: 2017-12-25
Packaged: 2019-02-20 13:39:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 833
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13147857
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/buries/pseuds/buries
Summary: barry can’t remember the last time he was here.or the one where the west-allens visit nora allen on christmas.





	we’re all travelling through time together

**Author's Note:**

> A present for _cbsnforeverandalways_ @ tumblr, for the Westallen Secret Santa hosted @ _westallenfun_. This fic is based on the following set of prompts: “Future WestAllen, christmas tree, holidays, Tornado twins” and one of your favourite WestAllen moments, “2x22 When Barry takes Iris to visit his mother’s grave.” I hope you enjoy it and have a safe Christmas (with no alien attacks). This was a lot of fun to write. ♥︎
> 
> The title is from Ellie Goulding’s “How Long Will I Love You”. All mistakes are mine.

Barry can’t remember the last time he was here.

It looks the same, as it always does. Sometimes he wonders if this is the one part of Central City that will never change. Metahumans, bad people, and _aliens_ can come and wreak havoc on the city, tearing it down, stretching out potholes, tossing the Flash into every tall building, and yet this site stays the same.

Barry sits cross-legged on the grass in front of Nora Allen’s grave. Fiddling with grass blades in his hands, he studies the corners of her headstone — it hasn’t changed, still curved neatly, like it had been created only minutes ago — and the lettering of her name. 

Nora Allen. It doesn’t surprise him her headstone remains perfect. 

“Maybe we should celebrate Christmas here,” Iris says from behind him. Barry doesn’t turn. He doesn’t need to. She stands behind him with a few irises — his idea — in her hands. She’s wrapped in a warm, thick coat hugging her shoulders. He knows his mother can see what the coat is hiding. “It would be nice.”

Barry glances over his shoulder to look at her, a soft smile spreading across his lips. “Maybe.”

“Barry,” she smiles, big and wide, and he knows, as he always does, that he’s the biggest idiot in the world. Still running, even after all of these years. He may become faster than the speed The Thinker’s mind can work, he may be able to outwit a bunch of Earth-X doppelgängers, and he may be able to finally defeat the Reverse-Flash, but he will never outrun this. 

Nora Allen taught him how to run. Barry Allen refused to learn how to stop.

“I know,” he says, nodding his head. “I know. I want to. Trust me, Iris. I do. Spending time with my mom … alive in an alternate timeline or even on another Earth is all I want. It’s all I’ve ever wanted. But …” He shakes his head. The blades of grass between his fingers almost bend and break.

Her hand’s on his shoulder so quickly he wonders if _she_ has the Speed Force buzzing restlessly inside of her, too. She’s lowered herself, boots comfortable against the grass, flowers almost brushing against his ear. “I know, Bear,” she says softly. Her fingers brush against his neck accidentally — once, twice — before the touch becomes more intentional. “You want your mom back. I get it. And it sucks that this is the only way you’re ever going to have her _here_.”

Barry doesn’t speak. Lifting his hand, he places his fingers over hers, lightly at first before they wrap around her own like a vice. 

When he looks at her, the corner of her lips curve upward. Iris settles against the grass, the knees of her pants now dirtied. At least they match.

She glances around, looking up at the sky. It’s the same sky that falls over their home, but it still feels different. Everything here feels different. “For what it’s worth, I think she’s here.”

“I know,” he says. He smiles. “I believe it, too.”

“I think,” she continues, “she’s here with my mom.” Her smile becomes wistful. Looking at him with her brow arched, she states with her unwavering confidence, “You know, grandmothers have a great sense for this kind of thing.”

Barry smiles, shaking his head. “Unlike _Paw Paw_.”

Iris rolls her eyes. “ _God_. Could he have been any more obtuse?”

“A little,” Barry says, face scrunched up in jest. He shakes his head, releasing the grass blades from being wrapped too tightly around his fingers. “Okay, a _lot_ more.” When she laughs, it’s the most beautiful sound. It doesn’t feel misplaced where Nora Allen rests. It should be bright. It should be loud. But Barry has always been rendered quiet when in the presence of her headstone.

Iris fiddles with his hand, brushing her fingers along his palm, tracing his lifelines, and tapping his nails. “I don’t know about you, Barry, but I can feel her here. I think we should at least come here on Christmas. Bring a little tree, a bit of tinsel. I remember your mom loved tinsel.”

“A bit too much,” he says with a smile. Then he shakes his head, smile vanishing. Feeling Iris’ eyes on his profile, Barry looks up at her with a slightly forced smile. “I know,” he says, nodding. “I want the baby’s first Christmas to be with her, too.”

“And it will be,” Iris says, her smile so bright. It’s difficult for him to not smile in return. _When you smile, I smile. When you’re sad, I’m sad._

Tilting her chin up, Iris — defiant, brave, _stubborn_ — arches her brow. “We’re doing Christmas. With lots and lots of tinsel.”

“And mistletoe?” He wraps his fingers into the spaces between her own, thumb brushing over the back of her hand.

Her smile turns deviant. “Only if Oliver Queen stands under it.”

Barry rocks backward. “He’s not going to be the godfather of the baby.”

Iris laughs.


End file.
